The Irish experience is a perpetual karaoke night

As you may have noticed, I've learned a thing or two about karaoke since I've been here. Not that the practice provides that much intellectual stimulation, rather the opposite, but it's led me to reflect on something. Today as I scrawled out my Collectors of Song and Music final exam in an abandoned airplane hanger, I realized that to me, Ireland is music. It is the glue which holds all these people together and binds Ireland's past to its present. And like a hypothetical young girl who gobbled the glue covered sugar cubes when she was supposed to be making a model pyramid for science club, I am eating it up.

Yep. That's me in the corner. Just real excited about culture.

No matter what corner of Ireland you travel to, you will find people singing and dancing together. The people embrace music as their tradition and it inspires them to embrace each other. A lot. You wonder why Irish people have such an reputation for being friendly? Perhaps we would all be a little friendlier if we started believing in the power of a choral line other than Journey's once in a while.

Dublin in particular doesn't just produce music, it hums with it. On a casual stroll through the city you will come across harpists, spoon players and even the occasional boy band, and most pubs host live traditional music sessions (seisiúns) at least three times a week. I could say more but I'd rather just show you. Below I have provided a few snapshots into Irish traditional music.

Here are some amazing musicians I found on Grafton street. These guys put their own spin on rocking out, the first with a kerosene can guitar, the second with a bicycle wheel drum accompaniment for his bass.

Next I'll show you what it's like to be in a real Irish pub. Here is a band from Robinson's hole in the wall pub Fibber Magees in Belfast who packed the house and got them on their feet, as well as a wonderful duo who plays every Friday at O'Connors pub in Doolin by the cliffs of Moher.

I know you've been itching to hear about St. Patrick's Day, so let's listen to something from the St. Patrick's festival. All week leading up to the holiday musicians collaborated to play traditional Irish music in the streets, in the mall, in locations you didn't expect, so my friends and I happened upon this group completely by accident. Acts on the Trad Trails route performed 45 minute sets of music and dancing, and this group had both. Here are excerpts from three songs, a lively jig, an Irish ballad and some traditional stepping. And watch out for that kid.

Finally, we have an amazing song, also from the Robinson's pub band at Fibber Magees, which begins with a very slow and haunting flute solo and then at 2:10 kicks up the pace with a tin whistle that will get you on your feet. Trust me, this flute player blows any arrangement of My Heart Will Go On out of the water.

If you are disappointed this post wasn't more negative, I apologize for my happiness. You too will understand when you come to Ireland. Next time you want to plug into a feeling bigger than yourself, try singing along to a few Irish pub tunes. With good friends and good music, we can all be a little bit Irish. Doesn't that sound nice?

Irish authorities will probably throw you in jail

Friends, the Irish have locked me up. No, I’m not actually sporting a prison jumpsuit and trading cigarettes for internet time, but there are instances when security practices here make me feel robbed of my freedom. Below you will find a guide on how to avoid offending Irish security and how to make sure Irish security doesn’t offend you.

The security personnel at UCD would like to courteously request that you refrain from having fun. After fighting long and hard in inspired “save our ball,” Tshirts, the students of UCD finally managed to regain the rights to their cancelled end of the year party, the UCD ball. Though the jury is still out as to whether administration or our brilliant student union deserves the blame for this mix up, the message from administration was clear: you can have your ball, but we’re going to make it a pain in the ass.”

That's the "after" security. Multiply x 1000 and you get the picture.

Our residential dog tags

Whether you had a ticket to the ball or not, in the days between the end of class and the day of the party, all campus residents were required to wear color coded, labeled bracelets, without which they would not be  admitted to their residence area. Note that all campus residences are encircled by a ten foot fence which can only be opened after 10pm with a scanner ID in the first place. Further note that these bracelets changed color every day. Given those details, if you tried to get into your residence area at any time of day with a valid student ID card and your name on a designated list, but had forgotten to get retagged with a different color bracelet by the given deadline, you were not allowed admission to your home. So for my second piece of advice, I would like to recommend you let go of your attachment to dwellings. The gutters of Dublin are more than willing to accommodate you.

Even the woods were blocked off,
bringing distress to young men with full bladders everywhere.

UCD’s “safety” policy meant that even capable adults like my grad student flatmates were hassled and policed by security on their way home from work simply because campus police wanted to make sure that no one from separate dorms could visit any of their friends’ homes. Coming back from campus after finding all buildings were locked, thus confining me to my apartment, I saw a girl from a separate on campus living area get denied from three separate, monitored gates because she wanted to buy bread from a convenience store located in a different residence cluster than her own. Upon explaining this to the officers at the only operational gate, the only reason they could offer her as to why she couldn’t come in was “that’s the pain of having a ball.” Which brings me to my second point: do not consume food. On my five minute walk from res to class I passed twenty five security officers, most of whom were standing stupidly in the middle of fields, watching students picnic as though they might pull out drugs or a weapon at any second. They also made a point of checking the bags of everyone entering the campus. Just walking to the library with a backpack made me feel like a victim of Big Brother surveillance.

Cant’ you just hear the Tina Turner soundtrack?

Although I believe this breach of students’ rights can be pinpointed to UCD, similar lock down procedures do occur at other educational institutions. I was once meeting friends at an entrance to Trinity College in the heart of Dublin, and in trying to reach the entrance we wrongly assumed we could cut through the campus. In the falling sun with the possibility of escape growing dimmer, I mused aloud as to which of my friends I planned to eat first when Trinity turned the campus into a Thunderdome. Joke was on us when, as a last ditch effort, we returned to the orginal gate only to find a man swinging it shut just ahead of us. Luckily for my friends, we made it out with seconds to spare and I managed to locate a sandwich.

Beyond the campus, security continues to pervade Dublin. On St. Patrick’s day fleets of Gardai patrolled the entrances to public parks, checking bags to make sure no person of legal age could actually carry refreshments. Then on Easter too, they lined the streets on horseback and foot, sending churchgoers through checkpoints around the parade route on O’Connell street. 

Which brings me to my next point: do not celebrate holidays. If you do, you may have to choose between being accosted by a swarm of yellow jackets or getting eaten by this dog.

Even all these security officers cannot save you from St. Patrick’s dog of nightmares.

I didn’t think so.

Perhaps it’s just me. My experiences at airport security lead me to believe the European Union may have put out an international Katewatch. It does seem rather odd that every airport I go to wants to confiscate my rocks, question my identity or violate my personal proximity boundaries. But honestly, do I look like a threat to you?

I prefer to believe my feelings of confinement originate in a cultural worldview I do not share. During a recent visit to the Kilmaheim Gaol where famous political prisoners were held and executed, my tour guide took a fondness to two young primary school lads and offered to, at the end of the tour, give them both a present. Hearing this, the younger excitedly exclaimed, “Oh! Is it a gun?!”

I think the dog will eat him first.